Casey vs The One Night Stand
by verkisto
Summary: He had wandered into my bar. Should I let him into my heart? Please heed the rating. Casey/OFC-Darlene
1. Ol' Blue Eyes

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

Chapter 1: Ol' Blue Eyes

It was a slow night, so it's not as though I would have overlooked him. But even if the bar had been packed, I think he would have stood out. At least to me, he would have.

He came through the door and looked quickly around the room, his eyes sharp, missing nothing. I'm not sure what he was expecting to find, but it was the same run-down dive that I had been working in for the last fifteen years, serving the same drinks to the same customers who sat in their usual spots until finally they didn't show up one day and one of the other regulars would announce, "Oh, yeah. Fred. He dropped dead three days ago."

Finally satisfied that everything was the way it should be, he ruffled his hair a bit with one hand to shake out the water, spraying droplets into the air around himself. It had been raining on and off all evening, which explained the small number of drinkers on a Wednesday night.

As he turned and walked towards the bar, I took a moment to check him out. He was about four or five inches over six feet and muscular. It was a deceptive build, though. He wasn't all bulked up with steroids so it would have been easy to miss if you didn't know what to look for. I could see it because of the powerful, controlled way he carried himself that spoke of regular visits to the gym and lots of running. I was willing to bet he had used this illusion of weakness to his advantage in a fight on more than one occasion.

He was dressed casually in jeans and a black windbreaker, a black polo shirt with a gray collar showing through where the zipper of the jacket didn't quite close at the top. He was clean-shaven with short hair, but I could see he was overdue for a trim since the ends were starting to curl. Too bad he kept it so short. It would be dead sexy if he let it grow out a bit more.

I could tell he was packing when he shifted his butt onto the bar stool and the fabric of the jacket under his left arm didn't buckle the way it should have. I wasn't going to mention anything about it, though. He was obviously some kind of a cop, the way he had come in and looked around. My dad and two brothers are cops, so it didn't worry me. I knew for sure he had a gun when he didn't take his damp jacket off but only unzipped it partway as he sat down on one of the stools along the bar.

"What'll you have?" I asked, inwardly groaning at the old cliché and thinking, _Smooth, you idiot_.

He looked at me through the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I think I have ever seen. They were the color of a mountain pond, cool and deep, and he smiled without letting the smile reach his eyes as he responded, "Jack Daniels, rocks," and leaned his forearms on the surface of the bar, lacing his fingers together in front of himself.

I turned away to get the bottle down from the shelf, giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror behind it. My hair, pulled back into a French braid, was as neat as could be expected after almost a full shift, and my tits were nicely displayed by the low-cut top that the bar's owner insisted all the girls wear. For once I was silently thanking my boss for the wardrobe choice as I turned around and noticed the gorgeous blue eyes moving downwards before coming back up to focus on my face.

I grabbed a glass from the rack under the bar and scooped a few ice cubes into it, tipping the bottle upside down to serve the shot. I couldn't help glancing at him as the liquor streamed out through the pouring spout, but he already seemed to be miles away.

I subtly jerked my wrist in a way that caused an extra half ounce to follow the measured amount. To the untrained eye it would look like a regular pour, but it caught his attention, causing him to smile again, and this time it did reach his eyes as his lips parted, revealing even, white teeth.

Bingo.

I smiled back at him and finished pouring, setting a cardboard coaster down in front of him and placing the glass on top of it. He picked the glass up, still looking at me with an amused expression, and raised it in a silent toast before taking a sip and putting it back down again.

Reaching into an inside jacket pocket, he pulled out a wallet, extracted a twenty and handed it to me, his eyes still fixed on my face. I started to feel the flush moving up my neck and into my cheeks, and I turned away quickly to the cash register, ringing up his purchase and counting out the change, taking more time than I usually needed so that my coloring would have a chance to get back to normal.

When I turned again to give him his change, he looked at me with a sort of speculative air, head tilted to one side, and said, "You blush pretty, Miss. I wouldn't have expected that from someone who can overpour so skillfully."

Well, what did I do but blush again like a school-aged virgin! I was trying to think of something clever or sexy or anything at all to say just to keep him talking when one of my regulars sitting on the other side of the room yelled out, "Hey, Darlene, how's about some service? There's other men in here besides that guy!" So of course I immediately opened my pretty blushing-virgin yap and bellowed, "Keep your hair on, Willie! You're not going to fucking die of fucking thirst, you know!"

I didn't even want to see how Mr. Hunky Blue Eyes was reacting to that fine example of ladylike decorum, and I grabbed my tray and slipped my notebook into the pocket on the front of my apron before coming out from behind the bar to take orders from the room.

When I came back about ten minutes later carrying a tray of used glasses and pitchers, his stool was empty. The glass was sitting on the bar, however, with most of the whiskey still in it, and I hoped that meant he hadn't left while my back was turned. It would be a shame if he got away before I could make a decent play for him.

Now, I know you're probably thinking from that last comment that I'm always hitting on customers, but it isn't true. I learned early in this business that that kind of behavior can get you into serious trouble so I don't usually mix my social life with my work life. But there are times to make exceptions, and this just felt like one of them, because I could sense he needed someone. Why else would a guy like that wander into a crappy little joint far off the main drag? No, let me back up a bit and explain a little more clearly.

He was trying to get away from something or someone, so he had come here, a place where nobody would know him, to sit and drink alone and think. But when he was through, whatever it was that was haunting him would still be there waiting, so even if it was just for a little while, he could use some understanding and comfort without questions or strings or complications, and I needed to be needed every once in a while, so it was a perfect fit.

Besides, the thought of his blue eyes and wide mouth and large hands on me made me shiver and get a little wet, and after I put the food orders in to the cook and came back behind the bar to start making up the drink orders, he was walking out from the men's room, glancing in all directions again before coming back into the lounge area, his right hand hovering at waist level in case he needed to draw his gun for any reason.

He sat down on the stool once again and took a drink, directing a smile my way that was about half strength. I wondered what would happen to my knees if he ever decided to give me his full smile, since the weaker version had almost knocked them out from under me. I started to pull the beer, pitchers of cheap draft for Willie and the boys, and the familiar task helped to divert my attention from the small fire that had ignited in my belly.

* * *

The next time I came back from delivering rounds and collecting money, I could see that he had shaken off whatever had been occupying his mind and he was now prepared to be a little more open and talkative, which was just fine by me. He started it off by saying, "So, Darlene. My name is Gary," and we shook hands like civilized people.

His grip was firm but gentle, his hand warm around mine. I resisted the temptation to get him to hold his palm up in the air so I could compare the size of my hand to his. For a moment, I considered having him hold my hand for the rest of the evening, but I unfortunately needed it to do my work, and I let his go and returned to wiping up and arranging my bar supplies.

I knew instinctively I wouldn't be able to ask him many questions at all, if any, so I just started talking about myself, telling him about my dad and my brothers. I could see he was interested and also that he was familiar with some of the details I mentioned about the life of a police officer and a police officer's family.

I told him way more about myself than I would normally tell a stranger or even some of my friends, for that matter. I wanted him to feel at ease with me and know that I wouldn't set him up for anything or try to get anything from him. Well, other than, you know, some incredibly hot sex.

Anyway, I was down to chatting with him about nothing in particular when he suddenly shifted his hips to one side so he could take a vibrating cell phone out of his jeans pocket. Glancing briefly at the number, he took the time to look up again and say, "Excuse me for a minute," before standing up and walking over to the empty corner between the bar and the front door. I noticed he didn't turn his back to the room the way a civilian would, and this meant I could hear him as he answered the call.

Working in a bar, you need to be able to hear people talking over all kinds of noise, whether it be the sound of a juke box or a live band or just other patrons getting a little out of control. I had been working surrounded by constant background noise for such a long time now that my hearing had become quite a bit sharper than the average person's, so without having to telegraph to him in any way that I was trying to listen in, I could hear him say, "Casey, secure," after he pressed the button to activate the call. I couldn't get any more than this from the conversation since it was just a series of "uh-huhs" capped off with a "yes, ma'am" before he disconnected, but a name was plenty. Gary Casey. It even rhymed, sort of.

When he returned to resume his place on the bar stool, I noticed something else and wondered why I hadn't seen it before. Most people usually slumped on bar stools, supporting themselves on the bar surface with an elbow and letting their spine bow and head drop. For the majority of the time since he had come in, Gary Casey sat ramrod straight, head erect, not supporting himself on anything.

I did a little inventory in my head as I tidied the prep area: looks and acts like a cop only with something more going on, like, for instance, saying "secure" when answering the phone; carries a concealed handgun but wears civvies; military posture and bearing. It all added up to one conclusion, and that was that he was ex-military and a federal agent of some type. I smiled to myself as I thought that, if I played my cards right, it wouldn't be long before this beautiful G-man would be finding my G-spot and driving me crazy.

* * *

Well, it was crunch time. Now or never. Gary had almost finished his second drink and most of the other customers had already filed out the door into the drizzle. Willie and his friends were the only others left. They were taking last gulps from their glasses and putting on their coats and Willie, true to form, couldn't help trying to make a joke at my expense. He lurched towards the bar, his words slurring as he called out, "Hey, Darlene, watch out for this one. He'll break your heart for sure."

His friends grabbed Willie by the shoulders and turned him around, pointing him towards the door, and I gave Gary a wry look as if to say, _What can you do? It comes with the territory_, and he chuckled as he finished the last of his drink.

It would be a shame to let Gary slip through my fingers now. Before he had a chance to stand up and before I had taken the time to think it through, I reached towards his face intending to straighten out a lock of his hair that had gone wild where he must have accidentally pushed at it, and as my hand was nearing the side of his head, he grabbed my wrist with lightning-fast reflexes, abruptly halting its motion. His eyes were hard and his easy smile had turned into a steely glare that scared me for a moment, but when he realized my hand was empty and I probably wasn't going to stick a syringe full of poison into his neck or something, he eased the pressure on my arm and let me smooth the strands of hair back into place above his ear, still keeping hold of my wrist.

When I had finished this rather daring and intimate grooming between total strangers, I rested my palm on his cheek, and he sighed and relaxed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall to the side a bit so the weight of it was cradled in my hand. I stopped breathing, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

When he opened his eyes again, he turned his head slightly and kissed the inside of my wrist, then let it go and said, "Darlene, I know it's a lot to ask, but..."

"Hold that thought," I blurted out, and hurried from behind the bar and over to the door, locking it, then flicking a switch to turn off the exterior sign lights. When I came back, I could see that Gary had figured out what he wanted to say, and I came up near his bar stool to get closer to him as he swung around on the stool to face me.

He opened his arms and I very naturally positioned myself inside their circle, standing between his thighs as he lightly closed his embrace and looked into my face.

"Darlene," he said, starting again, "I was wondering if we could be together, just for tonight. I can't offer you anything and you'll probably never see me again, but –"

I shut him up with a soft kiss and, pulling my face back again, said, "Gary, you don't have to explain anything and you don't have to apologize, now or ever. I think I understand what your situation is, and if I don't, it really doesn't matter. What's important is that we both want to share some time in each other's company, so let's not waste it."

I smiled as prettily as I could and freed myself from his arms to go back behind the bar and finish closing up.

"We can go to my apartment," I told him. "It's just a couple of blocks down. I'll only be about ten more minutes. Do you want another drink while you're waiting?"

"No, thanks," he replied, pushing his empty glass towards me so I could reach it.

"Hey," he continued, pulling a cigar out of a breast pocket, eyebrows raised in inquiry, "would you mind if I smoked this at your place? Just something I do occasionally to help me relax."

I turned towards him, looked him straight in the eye and, wearing a challenging grin, said, "Gary, sweetie, as far as I'm concerned, you get to do pretty much whatever you want," and I could hear him chuckling as I turned back to the cash register to finish the final tally.


	2. Mr Nice Guy

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

Chapter 2: Mr. Nice Guy

Luckily, by the time I finished closing up the bar and we were walking down the street to my apartment, it had stopped raining. There wasn't much traffic and it was pretty quiet. Still, it was nice to have someone to walk home with over the couple of blocks. It wasn't the worst neighborhood but it wasn't by any means the safest, and when Gary offered me his elbow and I curved my hands into the crook of it, I felt completely secure. I even felt like some kind of a lady for a change. A nice change.

We went into my building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. He didn't try to grab my ass on the way up like some guys would, but I was undecided on whether I approved or not, since I could feel his presence behind me and missed touching him already. Boy, was this ever going to be a good night. We hadn't even gotten into the apartment yet and I was already mentally fucking him three ways to Sunday.

We went inside and I hung my coat up in the closet. Gary stood still for a moment, looking as though he was trying to make a decision, then took off his jacket and, lo and behold, there it was, a shoulder holster with a gun in it. He handed me his jacket and I hung it up slightly apart from the other clothes in the closet so it would dry out. Turning back to him, I put my arms around his waist and looked up into his face, smiling.

"You're not surprised by the gun, are you?" he asked, sliding his hands around my back and pulling me closer to him.

"Nope," I replied smugly.

He lowered his face and kissed me, his lips brushing mine lightly at first and then with more pressure, his arms tightening their embrace. It was over much sooner than I would have liked, and he straightened up and turned his head to look around the apartment. Letting me go, he walked into the sitting room, leaving me standing there wanting more.

After a moment, I came around him and went into the kitchen, turning my head to say, "Have a seat. I'll get us a brandy and find you an ashtray."

When I came back carrying two snifters and a bottle of some really nice brandy, he was sitting at one end of the couch, his holster lying on an occasional table within reach. He accepted the glass I gave him and held it up so I could pour. When I had poured for myself and set the bottle down on the coffee table that was in front of the couch, we raised our glasses in a toast then each took a sip.

I put my glass on the table beside the bottle and went back into the kitchen in search of the ashtray. Where was it? I was pretty sure I hadn't tossed them all out when I had quit smoking several years before. And there was something else that might come in handy as well, if I could find that too.

I rummaged around in the odds and ends drawer and finally came up with what I was searching for. It was an old guillotine-style cigar cutter of my uncle's and, what luck, there was an ashtray too. A small box of wooden matches completed the set, and I brought them back out into the living room and placed them on the coffee table in front of Gary, who looked up and nodded his thanks.

Wanting to give him some room to maneuver, I sat down and picked up my brandy glass, rearranging the cushions behind my back so I could watch him. Well, admire him, frankly, is what I was doing. This little domestic scene was doing all kinds of things to my head. It was almost better than foreplay. No, I'm going to say that it was better than foreplay, at least the kind I was used to getting.

I guess it's something to do with me being a bartender. Guys think I'm some kind of free whore or something. I was willing to put up with it to a certain extent in exchange for their services, so it could probably be considered a reciprocal arrangement, but come on, would it have killed any one of them to treat me like a human being? Maybe I would have returned the favor. That was one of the reasons I stopped looking for sex at the bar and that was the reason I was so overwhelmed now that I had a man in my apartment who acted like a gentleman, even if it was going to be for just one night.

Gary put his glass down and went to get the cigar from his jacket pocket. When he came back and sat down again, he turned a bit so he was facing me and smiled in anticipation.

"Hey, before you fire that up and get all smelly..." I said, as I leaned forwards to kiss him again. He met my lips with a slightly opened mouth, as if eager to taste me, and when I opened my mouth to his, he very sweetly and a little wetly gave me a wonderfully warm kiss. The sensation it created in me was so intense I was actually glad that he hadn't tried to touch me other than with his lips and tongue. I think I might have passed out if he had. Damn, but he was a good kisser!

We parted again and I settled into my corner with my glass cupped in both hands and continued to watch him as he prepared his cigar and lit it. Sighing with contentment after the first real drag and exhale, he picked up his glass with his free hand and leaned back into the cushions, looking at me over the rim of his snifter as he took a sip.

Lowering his glass, Gary continued to look at me and, without blinking, said, "Ask me."

I quickly considered whether I should play dumb but decided against it. In the short while we had been together, I could see he was at least as good at reading folks as I was, maybe even better.

"Isn't it risky for you to come here? I mean, after all, you don't know me. I could be some kind of psycho or something luring men to her lair to kill them or make them do the dishes or whatnot."

I could see his eyes light up in amusement at the unanticipated question. He took another pull on the cigar, chuckling slightly before replying, "There are always risks, but if you're smart and pay attention, they're calculated risks." I know I was smiling, pleased to find out that he, like I, had assessed the situation and made the decision to take a chance.

We sat there in companionable silence as he smoked, pursing his lips so the smoke streamed out into the air and rose slowly to the ceiling, causing the apartment to smell like a walk in the woods on a fall day, wet and mossy and earthy, the kind of day when the air is crisp and clear and you can catch a whiff of burning oak leaves in the distance.

Gary put his brandy glass down on the table in front of him and gestured with his free arm, motioning to me to come closer. I moved over and snuggled up beside him, feeling his warmth through the thin shirt and the strength in his arm as he pulled me even tighter to him.

The taste of the cigar as he leaned his head down for a kiss was pleasant on his lips and then a bit too strong in his mouth, but after a few seconds that didn't seem to matter anymore as we both relaxed into it and concentrated just on each other.

Under the cool, controlled exterior, he was apparently as hungry for me as I was for him, and he set to work showing me just how hungry he was. After the surprise wore off, I couldn't do anything but submit to his kiss. Not that I was complaining.

His arm tightened around me and I could feel those deceptive muscles contract forcing my spine to arch towards him. He used his tongue to slowly outline my lips causing the muscles around my mouth to go slack so that when he pressed his mouth to mine again there was no question about who was in control.

I felt an intense heat begin to build in my abdomen and moaned low in my throat. This caused a reaction in him too, and the jolt that ran through his body transferred to mine like an electrical shock. Gary shifted a bit, turning his head away so he could safely put out his cigar and place it on the ashtray. When he turned back, he paused to look at my face. After his initial kisses had set me to thinking about what might happen next, it was all I could do to keep my eyelids open and focus on him, but it sure was worth the effort.

His beautiful blue eyes had taken on a darker hue as they smoldered with anticipation. He was wearing that half-smile again, showing his teeth and two rather large dimples that I hadn't noticed before. I raised my hands to either side of his face to pull him towards me again, and he used the motion to shift my weight so that I was lying on my back on the couch.

There's something very primal about being a woman and having a man above you, coming closer, and a large, well-built man like Gary – I think my nerves got a little melty as the springs in the couch moved to support the weight of his knees and elbows and I watched his head descend so he could take up our kiss where he had left off.

I wasn't tall enough so that both our faces and our crotches could line up at the same time, so I contented myself for the time being with the face part, knowing there was still enough time left of the night to take it a bit slow. Gary didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry either as he continued to kiss me while lowering his body onto mine, careful not to drop too fast and cut off my breathing.

Still resting on his elbows to take some of his weight, he wiggled his hands and forearms underneath my shoulder blades as I raised my arms up and started running my fingers through his hair and on the back of his neck. This went over well, and I was rewarded by the sound of a deep growl coming from somewhere in his chest and felt the vibration rumble against my ribcage.

I could sense Gary's smile on my mouth and it made me smile in return, and I laughed and began to feel very free, observing any final inhibitions melt away as I wrapped my legs around him, linking my ankles and pulling him as close to me as I could. He resisted me at first, still being careful not to crush me, then gave in as I tightened my thigh muscles at either side of his waist and ran my hands firmly up and down his back.

When he settled onto me, I guess it must have been something primal for him too. I could feel the heat from my crotch radiating back to me and building up on his abdomen through his shirt and he wiggled closer, his weight pushing my thighs apart so I had to bend my knees a bit more to accommodate him. Have I already mentioned he was a big boy? Nice.

He was still being careful but not as delicate as he pressed his mouth to mine urgently, demanding a response. His breathing shortened to sharp pants and he groaned, moving his hands from under my shoulders to my face and smoothing the wisps of hair that had escaped its braid as the back of my head rubbed on the surface of the couch.

He stopped kissing me suddenly and raised his head, looking at me with a piercing gaze.

"Darlene," he said, a little breathlessly, "talk to me."

Here we go, I thought. Now for the funny stuff. Next thing you know, he'll ask me to crawl around naked on the floor and bark like a dog or something. Or worse. It wasn't like this kind of thing hadn't happened to me before. There were certainly a lot of weirdoes out there. The trick was to find the relatively harmless ones. I decided to play along a bit and see if I could get rid of him without any trouble before the situation got too dicey.

What a shame. Just when things were looking really good, too.

I started out with the old standard, "I want you to fuck me, baby, fuck me hard," which, in all honesty wasn't exactly a lie.

And then he really surprised me.

"No," he said, pausing to kiss my neck just under my ear, sending shivers along my jaw, "tell me about your life, tell me about yourself. Whose pictures are on the table, for instance? Who's the little boy?"

It took a moment for me to adjust. I was glad he had his face turned away sprinkling little kisses and licks along my collar bone so he couldn't see the shocked look on my face. This was one for the record books. This guy, whatever kind of cop or agent he was, whatever he was required to do that called for him to carry a concealed weapon at all times, was a nice guy, the kind you might take home to meet your momma. And then drag into the back room so he could shag you senseless. I sure was one lucky gal!

So I started to tell him. I told him about getting pregnant at sixteen and the rushed marriage that followed to a boy I wasn't even sure I liked all that much. How his parents set us up in a small, run-down house in a shabby part of town where you couldn't get any sleep because of the police and ambulance sirens that wailed all night. I told him about my beautiful baby, my Robert – Bobby – who had been the light of my life and the only thing that had kept me with his daddy after Kirk had started to beat me and threatened to take my baby away if I tried to do anything about it.

By the time I got to the part where Kirk had smashed four-year-old Bobby's head in with a baseball bat because he was crying during the Super Bowl, Gary had stopped kissing me and was quietly listening, his brows drawn together, anger coming off of him in waves. I went on to explain how Kirk had been sent to the Pen and had received the usual convict justice meted out in a correctional facility to child molesters and baby killers and how his death meant he would never be able to touch me or my beautiful child again, who I hoped was at peace somewhere, laughing and smiling like he used to.

Gary used a thumb to wipe away the single tear that rolled down my face before he gently kissed me again and got up from the couch. I figured by then I had scared him away, and I didn't blame him. I hadn't told that story to anyone, not even my closest girlfriends. For some reason, I felt safe enough with Gary, though, to tell it, and in a way, it was a fair trade-off. He would excuse himself awkwardly and make his exit, counting himself lucky to have escaped and leaving me alone in my cold bed, but I felt as though a small knot in my insides had untied, a knot that I had lived with for so long I had almost stopped noticing that it existed.

When Gary extended his hand to help me sit, I got up from the couch and started to move around him to prepare for his departure. He blocked my way with his arm, however, and looked at me until I raised my head and met his steady gaze. What I saw there wasn't disgust and it wasn't pity. It was understanding, and he pulled me to him so I could feel the security and protection of his broad chest under my palms and his strong arms around me as he rested his chin on the top of my head.

"Darlene?" he said tentatively, breaking the silence.

I didn't want to start crying for real, so all I could manage at that point was a muffled, "Mm-hmm?"

"Darlene," he said in a low voice, "please call me John. John Casey."

"Is that your real name, John Casey?" I asked, pulling back a bit so I could look at his face again.

"It's as real as I can get right now," he replied as he lowered his head to mine for a passionate and at the same time compassionate kiss.


	3. The King of Cool

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

Chapter 3: The King of Cool

Now I thought I might really start to cry. I wasn't expecting anything like this. I had been my own support for so long it was difficult to let someone else carry the burden, but as Gary – no, it was John now – kissed me and held me as though he was never going to let me go, I passed the burden over to him and my soul suddenly became light, so light that I thought I might just rise up and hover over his head somewhere near the ceiling.

When we stopped kissing after a good few minutes I was glad he was still holding on and I clung to him, laughing now, smiling so hard I thought my face might begin to hurt. John was smiling too, and he placed his forehead against mine and looked deeply into my eyes. I finally stopped laughing and gazed back at him, molding my body to his as though I was made of putty and feeling as if I had always belonged in his arms. He was the one who broke the silence.

"Hello," he said, making me think he had suddenly become shy, which upped my arousal meter about thirty notches.

"Hello, back," I said in a slightly throaty voice.

Damned if he didn't do the unexpected again. It was starting to get so I couldn't keep up with this man.

"Do you like to dance?" he asked, swaying slightly and rocking us both side to side to an inaudible rhythm.

"As a matter of fact, I do," I replied. "With or without music?"

"I think music would help if you've got something slow and smoldering," he specified.

"Slow and smoldering coming right up," I said, but I couldn't resist another kiss before leaving his embrace.

It was a joyful kiss he gave me this time, full of happiness and acceptance and a promise of upcoming excitement. I could feel little butterflies hatching in my stomach at the images it produced in my brain of sunshine and fresh air and a strong hand firmly around mine that would never let me fall.

In the end, it was me who had to move away from him, and I pushed my butt backwards to break his hold, our lips being the last to part. I went to the stereo and found a compilation CD that I had picked up a couple of years before of old lounge tunes, you know the kind, crooners from the '40s and '50s singing songs that were thinly veiled excuses for couples of the time to have dry sex while standing up and moving around a dance floor.

I put the CD on and waited a moment for the first tune to start, moving my feet to the slow beat and making my way back to where John was also picking up the beat, smiling a kind of smile I hadn't seen from him yet, his eyes half-closed and giving his face a warm, sensual cast. He opened his arms to me again, sliding his right hand around my waist to rest firmly in the small of my back and grasping my right hand in his left so it pretty much disappeared, cinching me to him as he moved his feet and hips smoothly to the hot-cool music.

I had to arch my back a bit to look up at his face. I was pretty sure by that point I was wearing some kind of goofy grin but he didn't seem to mind. As we spun slowly around the floor, he moved his hand higher up on my back so that I came to rest against him, and then he did that sexy thing with his other hand where the guy drops his elbow and curls his arm around inwards towards his chest to pull the woman against himself possessively.

I turned my head to the side, smelling the cigar smoke that lingered in his shirt and listening to the beat of his heart. It was the kind of dancing I liked best where I didn't have to concentrate on any fancy steps. My job was to respond to the subtle pressures of his hands and arms and body and let myself go where he went.

My whole world shrank to the space delineated by his body. The only sounds I could hear were the music and his heartbeat and one mighty sigh from me as I luxuriated in the languorous sensation radiating out along my arms and legs.

I don't know how long we danced like that. Certainly long enough for me to really get to like it. I had to keep repeating to myself that this was just one night, he wasn't going to call me after he was gone, never meant never, and so on, but the romantic optimist in me wouldn't let the pragmatic realist win this one. So I kicked Ms. P.R. to the curb and let Ms. R.O. take over completely, only giving myself a mental shake when I realized I had worked out all the details of our lives together, up to and including a three-bedroom house in a quiet suburb with two kids and one more on the way as I massaged John's feet and kept an ear open for the timer in the kitchen so the roast wouldn't burn.

As we continued to dance, I had almost forgotten why I had invited John up to my apartment in the first place, but it wasn't too long before he reminded me. He stopped moving and wrapped his arms completely around me, joining his mouth to mine in what could only be described as a nakedly lustful kiss. He ran his tongue around the inside of my mouth and pushed against my head so hard I probably would have fallen over backwards if I hadn't been securely contained within his embrace.

Yes, there's a time and a place for tenderness, and the kissing we had done before and the dancing had been wonderful, but as it became very clear that the atmosphere in the room had changed, I welcomed it. Now was the time for something a little more, shall we say, participatory, and I let him know in the way I returned his kiss that I was with him all the way.

John moved his hands down and grabbed my ass – finally! – and firmly kneaded my buttocks, slipping his fingers in and out to rub my crotch from behind as he did so. The friction on the surface of my tight blue jeans went right where it was supposed to, and I moaned into his mouth and made sure to position myself so he could get a really good feel.

I moved my hands from his chest to grope for his belt, but he wasn't going to let me undress him, apparently, and he moved back a bit so I lost what little grasp I had on it. Instead, I snaked my hands back up to his head and neck again. That must have been a favorite of his because it was his turn to moan now, and he lifted me into the air and settled my legs around his hips so he could get even better access to my hot spot.

At this point, I wished I was wearing magic disappearing jeans or, more to the point, not wearing them, and I squirmed around, trying to keep contact on just the right location with his constantly moving fingers. He must have known that giving me a bit and then taking it away was driving me crazy, because I could feel his chest rumble again in a throaty bass laugh this time and his lips curled up in a smile as he continued to kiss me deeply and fiddle and twiddle and stroke.

"John," I tried to say, although since we were still doing the tongue thing, it came out sounding something like "Ohhn."

"Wa'?," he queried in a playfully innocent tone.

"'astar'," I croaked out. If he kept this up I was definitely going to come and – oh, yes, there it was, uh-huh, right there, oh, yeah, daddy!

I stopped breathing and jerked back and forth and up and down violently, tightening my legs around him so hard I figured I must be cutting off his circulation. By the time I had stopped my little marionette-gone-wild dance, my jeans were soaked clean through, which might have been a little embarrassing if it hadn't turned John on so much.

He stopped kissing me to let me catch my breath and carefully lowered me so I could put my feet on the floor, continuing to hold on in case my knees buckled. It was close, that's for sure, but I managed to stay somewhat upright as I gasped like the proverbial fish out of water.

_Dignity_, I thought. _For God's sake, girl, have a little dignity_, but alas, it wasn't to be, because John had decided that he wanted to see what was under my clothes and had grasped the bottom edge of my top, pulling it up as I lifted my arms into the air and casting it aside. His eyes lit on my heaving chest and he cupped his hands around my breasts, moving his thumbs over my nipples as they hardened under the lacy fabric of the push-up bra.

When that didn't satisfy him anymore, he reached around behind me and expertly undid the clasp, drawing the straps from my shoulders and consigning the pretty undergarment to the air. I think it landed somewhere in the kitchen.

Okay, so he was a breast man, apparently. That explained the once-over he'd given my girls in the bar. He was very tender, almost reverent in his adoration, massaging, then kissing, then licking and sucking as he got down on one knee in front of me and transferred his hands to my waist to hold me in place. Believe me, I wasn't going anywhere.

More hands in the hair, caressing the sides of his face and feeling a bit of rough stubble on his cheeks, even leaning down to kiss the top of his head. I thought that last little session had been my favorite but the breast thing had it beat by a mile. And, bonus, he was moving his hands around again, sliding his palms over my ass, up my bare back where I could feel the roughness of his skin against mine, and going all the way up the back of my neck before coming back down again.

I think a lot of guys might be interested to know about the nerve connection between a woman's nipples and her vagina. It's one of the things that makes nursing a baby, which can sometimes be kind of uncomfortable – what with all the chewing on sensitive body parts­­ – a rather pleasurable experience. So the back- and butt-rubbing combined with gentle but insistent suckling was doing it for me again.

I lowered myself down onto the muscular male thigh that was horizontal and proceeded to do the wild thang against John's leg. Obviously, I was way beyond caring whether he might have thought that was strange or not, and I clutched his head to my breast and found the right rhythm to send me over the edge for the second time in less than ten minutes.

It wasn't a release this time, though. It just made me want more, and I'm afraid after leaving a large wet patch on the man's leg I was feeling a bit demanding. Well, it was my place, after all. I figured I had the home advantage, right? And I was going to take every advantage I could get.

As I stood up, John stopped the breast work and moved so that he was on both knees on the floor in front of me. He grinned up at me and began to undo my jeans and was infuriatingly slow about it. When he had the button open and the zipper down, I grasped the sides of the legs to tug them off, but he covered my hands in his and made me stop.

Talk about indecision. I couldn't figure out if I liked the teasing better or if getting straight down to business would have been preferable. John, the sexual manipulator, was going to play it both ways.

"What do you want me to do next, Darlene?" he asked with a mischievous look on his face, his mouth and lips still glistening from the wet saliva on them.

I let out a sound of frustration, something in the range of "Arrrrgh!" and squirmed my hips around under our hands, trying to liberate myself from the soggy denim.

"How about a nice lick?" he asked, again with an _I'm-just-an-innocent-boy_ voice but with a face on him that said _I haven't been innocent for a very long time_, and he pulled my jeans and panties down in one go, giving me a moment to kick off my shoes and lift my feet one by one so he could slide the pants from my legs. Whoosh! Off they went somewhere into the air as well.

As promised, John went straight for my clitoris with his incredibly sexy mouth. I had no idea how he expected me to stand upright during this procedure, but since I didn't seem to have a choice, I did the best I could, bending my knees a little when they jellified on me a bit and trying to support myself with my hands on his shoulders.

I took the opportunity while I was looking over his back to make all kinds of unattractive "O" faces as he moved his attention from my clitoris to my vaginal opening with his warm, wet tongue and lips. I was starting to moan in earnest as he did the bait and switch thing again and I was really getting into it when he suddenly corkscrewed two fingers into me, forcing a large gasp from my throat, leaving him free to concentrate his licking and sucking completely on my clitoris.

I think at this point I was saying something rather intelligent like, "Guh, guh, guh," over and over again – in a very attractive and feminine way, of course – and I clutched onto his back as I came for the third time, driving my fingernails into his shoulders and pushing myself repeatedly and hard down onto his hand.

John, somewhat mercifully, slowed down and stopped when I did and slid his fingers back out, causing me to gasp almost as loudly as I had when he had put them there in the first place.

You know when you're at the dentist and they wait until they've put every loose piece of dental equipment from within a half-mile radius in your mouth before asking you how things are going? Well, when John looked up at me again and said, "How was that?" I was kind of surprised to find that I was still conscious but not at all surprised to discover that I had lost the power of coherent speech. All I could do was nod dumbly and once again try not to fall over.

Surprise number – oh, screw it. I'd lost count. The next thing out of his mouth, which he was wiping with the back of one hand, really took the cake.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sincerely concerned.

Another nod from me.

"Are you all set? Do you think you might be ready yet?"

So I'm standing there thinking _Is this guy for real?_ I've had less preparation for a root canal. Hmmm, seemed to be a disturbing number of dental analogies popping into my head. How about this one? Yes, John, I'm ready for the drill now. The heavy duty one. The one in your pants.

Instead of trying to think of something adult and lofty to say and then actually making the effort of forming audibly lucid words, I took his hand and pulled him up from the floor, leading him to the bedroom. Once again, when I turned around and tried to start taking off his pants, he stopped me and, hands gently on my upper arms, he sat me down on the edge of the bed.

_Oh, goody, a man striptease_, I thought. I could still hear the music playing faintly through the doorway and I waited eagerly for the show to start.

John reached back over his shoulders first and pulled his shirt and undershirt over his head, dropping them to the floor. Next, he hopped around a bit on one foot then the other to slip off his shoes and socks. I'm afraid I snickered a bit at that one.

I was starting to feel a little needy in the downstairs region again and thought irreverently, _And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, the main event!_

He oh, so slowly undid his belt and opened the fly on his pants, and when he pulled them down and stepped out of them, straightening up again to do the same with his boxer shorts, the next surprise that I met with was so shocking, I couldn't help my reaction.

First I gasped and raised a hand to my open mouth. Then I started to giggle, sputtering as I tried to hold it in. When that didn't work, it became a full-blown laugh, and I held my stomach with one hand, pointing to John with the other arm straight towards him, and finally choked out, "Oh, my God! It's so little! And so cute!"


	4. The Lizard King

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

Chapter 4: The Lizard King

John was standing with his feet spread apart, fists on his hips, turning a bit from side to side to give me a better look. I could almost imagine a Superman cape billowing out behind his neck.

I went down on my knees close in front of him to inspect it more closely.

"Can I touch it?" I asked, smiling up at him widely.

"Go ahead," he replied. "Just be careful. The safety's on but it is loaded."

I ran my fingers lightly around the edges of the holster that was strapped around his hips and between his legs. It was positioned low on his groin to one side and held a neat little pistol.

"It's called a pancake holster," he explained, showing me how it was designed to rest comfortably on the skin and cause a minimum of chafing.

He drew the gun out and double-checked it before laying it on the nearby dresser. He then unstrapped the pancake holster and stepped out of it, letting me handle it and turn it over and around. With a look of wonder still in my eyes, I handed it back to him, and he placed it beside the weapon.

"The trick is not to accidentally shoot yourself in the balls," he said, his face completely serious now. "I'm surprised you've never seen that kind of holster, Darlene."

"I told you," I said, "the cops in my family are my brothers and my dad. I'm actually glad I've never seen one, all things considered."

He laughed at this and reached down towards his right ankle. I had been so captivated by the groin holster that I had barely noticed the one strapped to his lower right calf. Or the knife sheath on his lower left leg.

I sat back on my haunches and looked up at him as he ripped open the Velcro fastenings and added them to the growing pile of armaments on my dresser. It was just about the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life. I suppose it would be nice to live in a society where people didn't walk around armed to the teeth, but damn. Uh-huh.

The next thing I knew, John had disappeared from the room. He wasn't gone long, though, and he came back in carrying his shoulder holster and gun, putting them on the bedside table and removing and placing his wristwatch next to it. I took the opportunity to pull the elastic that was holding what was left of my braid out of my hair and toss it on top of the dresser, finger combing the plaits out as best I could.

As I did this, I turned my head to watch his progress, still on my knees on the floor, and when he came back to stand in front of me, asked, "That your side?"

"Is now," he replied.

I had been so distracted by the guns and so on that it took a moment for me to realize what else I was looking at as I gazed up into his face, and my cheeks warmed up and turned scarlet. Without going into too much detail, let's just say that John was also fully armed with what Mother Nature had given him and there it was, hanging about two inches from my face.

He reached down with one hand and tangled his fingers in my hair, massaging the back of my head and smiling warmly as his penis, already slightly turgid, swelled some more and began to head into the air. It was mesmerizing, like the snake charmer being charmed by the snake, and I lifted up, putting my hands on his hips and taking the head into my mouth.

"Darlene, you don't have to if you don't want to, you know," John said, concern coloring his voice as his brows clouded a bit.

I disengaged long enough to say enthusiastically, "Oh, believe me, I want to," and began again, carefully sucking the top and tightening my lips to slide over the rim, getting him good and wet as I let more of his length slip into my mouth on each downward push.

Now it was John's turn to have dysfunctional knees, and he dug the fingers of both hands down to my scalp, being careful not to pull my hair too much as he held onto my head to give him some support.

I got a chance to glance up for a moment as I let my mouth slide off of him so I could change my position a bit. He had his eyes closed, face turned to the ceiling, jaw limp and mouth open a bit. His lips were moving as though he was saying something but no sound was coming out. When he noticed that nothing was happening for a moment, he opened his eyes and looked down, the irises and pupils deep and dark with lids half-closed, what is usually referred to as "bedroom eyes."

What a coincidence. That's where we were.

I decided that instead of continuing from the floor I could do a better job on the bed. That way, the man wouldn't have to teeter around trying not to fall on me. I didn't want that to happen. Not just yet, anyway.

I stood and gave him a light kiss before leading him over to the bed and getting him to lie down on his back, propping his head and shoulders up a bit with a couple of pillows. Wherever he had been a moment ago he was still mostly there because the kiss he gave me back was a bit distracted and he seemed a little more docile than I would have expected.

I crawled over his legs and positioned myself on my knees at his side, taking him into my mouth again. This time when I took a peek, I saw he was still savoring every strong suck and slide but he was once again in the moment, so I added my hands to the mix, firmly stroking the lower part of his penis right down to the root, covering the bits I wasn't getting with my mouth, and he began to groan and raised and parted his knees a bit.

By this time, I was really getting into it, and I started to experiment to see what kinds of reactions I might get. I uncovered my teeth and very gently bit up and down his shaft, making sure that I didn't do any damage, and increased the pressure of my palms, squeezing hard and releasing at a slightly increased rhythm.

I didn't really want to interrupt the flow right then but I did want to see what I could do from between his legs, so I somehow managed to scoot around his foot without releasing him from my mouth and hands and set up the rhythm again as soon as I could. John noticed the change right away, because now I was able to easily include his scrotum and testicles and the part of his penis just behind it that was now so sensitive that he yelled out a bit when I began to massage firmly there.

Now John was doing the "Guh, guh, guh" thing, and he squirmed his ass around, digging his heels into the mattress as he tried not to thrust himself down my throat. I'm telling you, this guy was really considerate, especially since I wasn't planning on giving him any mercy.

I kept it up, moving faster and faster, alternating between stroking his shaft and massaging his balls, all the while keeping my mouth traveling around as I sucked on his head and did some magic with my tongue, until he suddenly said, "Darlene, Darlene! Oh, my Go – unnnggggh!" and shot into my mouth.

I could feel the strong pulsing of his penis under my hands as I stopped moving everything to let nature take its course. He clenched his buttocks and leg muscles and raised his pelvis up a bit into the air and held there as the hot viscous fluid pumped out and over my tongue. When he had finally emptied himself and relaxed back onto the bed, I let his penis go and smiled at him again, watching as he tried to catch his breath, his chest expanding and contracting as he opened his dazed eyes and made an effort to focus on me.

I patted his stomach a couple of times for no particular reason then crawled out from between his legs and got off the bed to go into the bathroom. I wanted to rinse my mouth and I also needed to pee. It didn't take long, and when I got back, John was apparently ready for a pee as well. When he left, I pulled the covers back and crawled under them to "my side," building my own pillow back support and making myself comfortable as I waited for the man to return.

I heard the toilet flush and the water run, and when he came back out, there I was flashing him a self-satisfied grin, feeling very smug and clever.

John stood in the middle of the room, his still-impressive but now-flaccid penis pointing towards the floor, and said, "I'm sorry, Darlene."

_What the hell now?_ I thought, as my face fell. The only thing I could choke out was "Why?"

"I couldn't wait anymore," he explained sheepishly, acting as though he expected me to toss him out for this major breach of bedroom etiquette.

I jumped out from under the covers and went to him, took his hands in mine and pulled him over to the bed, saying, "John, I want to meet your mother, because she sure did teach you the most amazing manners. I'm surprised you held out that long, actually," I continued in a joking voice as I got both of us under the covers and settled into our pillows, "I am pretty good at it, after all."

He started to protest. "But, Darlene, what about you? I wanted you to have a nice time."

I silenced him with a firm kiss before saying, "John, honey, I've already had a nice time, as you call it, three nice times, in fact, and just in case you've forgotten, I work in a bar. I don't start again until six o'clock tomorrow evening. Do you have anywhere to go first thing in the morning?"

His face was split by an evil grin as he replied, "No, ma'am."

"Good," I said decisively. "That's settled, then."

I snuggled up next to him and pulled his arm around my shoulder, turning a bit on my side to establish as much body contact as I could.

"And keep it up with this 'ma'am' thing. That one works."

He raised the arm that wasn't occupied holding me to the side, executed a snappy salute in my direction, and said crisply, "Yes, ma'am!"

"Now," I declared decisively, "we'll just take a bit of time to marshal the forces and see if we can get that soldier of yours to stand at attention again."

"_Yes, ma'am!"_ he barked out, much more enthusiastically this time, and leaned his head down to give me a kiss that would have made the whole United States services proud.

* * *

John seemed to respond really well to being ordered around by a woman, and I filed that one away for possible later use as we kissed until he had taken my breath away again. I finally broke from him and protested, "Hey, you're supposed to be resting!"

He pouted, looking for all the world like a little boy who's been told he can't go to the movies, and said, "Oh, all right, spoilsport. Be that way," but he did relax back into the pillows and asked me to talk to him again.

I kept it light this time, telling him about some charity work I do for the homeless and a trip I took the previous year to Moab in Utah, how beautiful the sunsets are in the desert and how they're never the same from evening to evening.

I thought he might be falling asleep at one point, but when I moved around a bit because I had slipped downwards under the covers and preferred to be up high enough so I could continue messing around with my fingers in his chest hair, he stirred and turned his face to smile at me. I guess he really had been listening to me drone on and on when he asked a few questions about some details of my stories, then kissed my lips by brushing them very lightly before pulling his head back so he could inspect my upturned face.

At some point, I had hitched a leg over his belly so I could feel more of him, and I noticed a stirring there also. When he saw my eyes widen and my mouth twitch up in a smile at the sensation, John began to kiss me again and turned towards me, going partway up on his hip so his rapidly hardening penis was between us. He had to sort of double over because of our difference in height, as I mentioned before, but we managed to achieve the desired result, which was his pulsing cock rubbing on my engorged vulvae as both our breaths turned into short pants.

Shit! We had forgotten the health questionnaire!

"Wait, wait, wait!" I said, pushing my hands into his chest to get him to back away.

"What?!" he cried out, truly panicked, going so far as to whip his head around to check out the room.

Because I'm basically a moron, I started giggling and rolled around a bit. It took a moment before I could get my composure back enough to explain.

"What about diseases and stuff?" I finally asked him. "I just got checked out about a month ago and I'm fine. Birth control is taken care of." I looked at him expectantly and also a bit hopefully.

"Oh, yeah, me too. Not the birth control. The other thing," and I would have started laughing again at this if he hadn't jumped on me and started with that bone-melting kissing again, coaxing me onto my back and pushing my knees up and apart. I helped him out by raising my feet into the air and holding his by now rock-hard penis and guiding it in the right direction. Because I'm helpful that way.

He took a moment to stop kissing me and look deep into my eyes as he pushed slowly into me, catching his lower lip in his teeth and letting his facial muscles go slack when he got in a bit farther. As for me, well, I had my mouth hanging open, not breathing, not blinking, feeling the delicious friction of every fraction of an inch that he advanced as his girth distended my vagina and he filled me up.

Once he was all in, he stopped moving, but before I could squirm or file a petition or somehow encourage him to start up again, he blew my mind by giving me another heartfelt and tender kiss, and I kind of lay there dumbfounded for a moment until he eventually did start to withdraw.

From there on out, it was a sex wonderland. This guy certainly knew what he was doing and I got the full benefit of it. He started out with regular, even strokes that seemed to go on forever before turning and repeating in the other direction. Then, as he sped up and my legs wrapped around him, he began to grunt in time with each thrust, which encouraged me to synchronize my hips with his. By the time we both got to where we were going, we were making enough noise to raise the dead, and if I had had any corner of my brain left over at that point, I might have been thinking about how to explain the racket to Mrs. Brewster in the next apartment, who liked everyone else to be as quiet as she was.

With a bellow that tore any potential lie about what we were doing to shreds, John gave one final thrust and stopped as he ejaculated. I had my hands on his shoulders, my head under him at his chest level, and I could feel him arching the small of his back and clenching his buttocks again. I wished for a fleeting moment that I could see that somehow – maybe a ceiling mirror was in order? – before I forgot the thought and did some last little squirming around on his cock while it was still in place. When we had both finished, he pulled out, and I felt the little pop and cool air hit me as all my nerve endings continued to tingle full blast.

We were both breathing very heavily and covered in saliva and sweat and semen, flushed with our success. As John carefully rolled to one side so he wouldn't accidentally fall on me, he looked into my face again, and I just couldn't help it. I started smiling and then laughing, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him wildly all over his face, his nose, his forehead, his ears, his neck – anywhere I could reach – and he laughed too as he submitted to this punishment and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me very tight indeed.

When I stopped kissing him to catch my breath and looked at him again, he asked, with a very sly look on his face, "Darlene, does that mean you liked it?"


	5. The Velvet Fog

_**Warning: coarse language and adult situations.**_

Chapter 5: The Velvet Fog

I looked at John in wonder and my eyes filled with tears.

"Why are you crying?" he asked. He really didn't know.

"You're being so nice," I replied, sniffling and wiping my nose with the back of a hand.

"And you think you don't deserve it, is that it?" he said, pulling me to him and squeezing tight as he gave me a shake.

When he loosened his grip again, he looked at me with his charming half-smile, tenderly brushing the hair away from my face and de-sticking the bits that had wrapped themselves around my nose and clung to the remnants of drying snot there. Even though I was pretty sure I was anything but glamorous at that moment, he kissed me, very lightly at first so I would accept it, then a little more insistently as I relaxed in his arms again and let him in.

By the time he had stopped, I felt a little more sure of myself again, and he gave me a stern look and said, "Darlene, you're very special. You welcomed me in here and made me feel comfortable, gave me a chance to relax and forget about some problems that were worrying me. You didn't ask for more than I can give in return. It may not be on the scale of world peace, but it means a lot to me."

"Thank you, John," I whispered, and I tucked my head under his chin and rested it on his shoulder as he wrapped me up in his warmth again.

"I just need to ask you for one more thing, though," John said, the humor coming through in his tone of voice.

"What?" I moved my head from his shoulder and tilted my face back to look at him.

"I'm hungry," he said. "Got anything in the fridge?"

Laughing, I told him, "Well, I guess you've earned it. Let's go," and we got up and went into the bathroom for a quick rinse-down in the shower before drying off and making our way to the kitchen for a snack.

After I unhooked my errant bra from the top of the blender where it had landed earlier, I pulled some sliced turkey and onion rolls from the fridge that I had bought at the deli down the street the day before. I made up the sandwiches with cheese and mayonnaise, lettuce and tomatoes and brought them into the living room along with a couple of bottles of beer – lunch at 3 a.m.! – and we sat down to eat as though it was a picnic.

If you've never shared sandwiches with a gorgeous naked man while sitting in the middle of the living room floor, I highly recommend it. A feast for the stomach and the eyes. I licked a dollop of mayonnaise from John's fuzzy tummy where it had dropped and he brushed crumbs from around my mouth with a gentle thumb. And we talked again.

"What were you saying earlier, you know, when I –" and I did the cock-in-the-mouth motion to indicate what I was referring to.

When he had finished laughing at my gesture, John said, "Oh, just a mantra."

"A what?"

"A mantra. For when I want it to last longer."

"Oh," I said. "Didn't work, did it?" I continued, raising my eyebrows, challenging him.

"I was up against an expert. I'll do better next time," John replied, taking up the challenge.

"And I'll hold you to that, mister," I said, sounding all bossy and officious.

There it was. What a reaction that one got. The female in charge thing. Yep, he definitely liked it, and he finished the last gulp of his beer, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on mine as he put the bottle down and said, in a very low and sexually suggestive voice, "Yes, ma'am."

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back on the floor with a cushion under my head that John had put there. He was kneeling between my legs, placing his hands under my buttocks to raise my hips off the floor a bit, and he was heading for you-know-where.

"Wait, what are you doing?" I cried in astonishment.

"Dessert," he said, before his face disappeared into my crotch and his tongue into my vagina. I started out laughing a bit but that didn't last for very long as my laughter turned to moans. Reaching down, I caressed his head as he slowly outlined various anatomical features with his probing tongue. When he stiffened the end and stroked the front wall, I'm afraid I just about lost it and grabbed onto his ears, giving them a tug to keep him in place.

I heard a muffled "Ow," and eased up a bit, but I couldn't help moving around, flexing and extending my lumbar spine to try to get closer and beginning to moan again and breathe erratically.

Suddenly, I got an idea.

"Soldier, halt!" I barked out, the way drill sergeants did in the movies.

He reacted immediately, stopping his licking but leaving his head where it was.

"Inspection! Soldier, ten-hut!"

He jumped up and stood there stiffly, looking straight ahead. I did note, however, a glint of amusement in his eyes, so I decided I should continue.

And he really was at attention. I watched as his lovely cock waved in the air as though in a slight breeze, jerking around quite a bit while he stood there waiting for another order. Time for more fun.

"Soldier, present arms!"

John obviously had a very quick brain and as wicked a sense of humor as mine, already into the spirit of my little impromptu game, and he grasped his penis in his right hand, running his grip down and back up its length. He even made a loud clicking noise with his mouth to simulate pumping a bullet into firing position in a rifle.

"Armed and ready, ma'am!" he shouted out, still looking straight ahead, but now with a tiny quirk to one side of his mouth.

"Deploy troops!"

Obedient soldier that he was, he dropped back down and eagerly entered me, very quickly too, so that the rush of sensation almost made me pass out and forget to issue the next order.

"Troops, move out! Quick march!"

And he moved out, as ordered. Then, bless his heart, back in again, strong and hard, his excitement quickly building to a fever pitch as I told him in a firm, commanding tone what I wanted him to do.

I kept it up the whole time too, shouting out orders like "Faster!" "Slow march!" "Double time!" and making comments such as "Is that the best you can do, soldier?" which I think was the one that gave the most spectacular result. I had a little overachiever on my hands, it seems.

I wondered briefly who the "ma'am" on the other end of his phone conversation in the bar had been and offered up a silent vote of thanks to her.

Playing it out right through to the end, John, who was gasping and grunting in his heightened excitement and shoving hard and fast enough to push me into Mrs. Brewster's living room next door, finally yelled out, "Permission to come, ma'am?" and damned if the little dickens didn't manage to hold on for almost another minute as he continued his vigorous thrusting. I drew it out a bit longer than was probably humane and, when I couldn't hold back my own orgasm, finally croaked, "Permission granted, soldier!"

And he did. With a vengeance. I was afraid for a moment that he was going to give himself an aneurysm from the way he was straining. His palms were flat on the floor above my shoulders so that his arms held me in place, which helped him penetrate me as deeply as he possibly could, grimacing as he let out something between a long groan and a grunt that seemed to originate from somewhere around his toes.

And I think that's when I fell in love with him a little bit. Okay, a lot. Because I'd never been with a man who was willing to be vulnerable to me, to not only let me be in control but to welcome it.

It was ironic, under the circumstances, since I knew so little about him, but I felt as though I understood him much better suddenly, and there he was, his little emotional underbelly exposed, rolling over exhausted onto his back and taking me with him so I was lying on his stomach and chest, still joined together in that most intimate of human connections.

It was then I realized something very important. His problem was intimacy. Whether it was something that had happened in his past or, more likely, the demands of his job, he was emotionally cut off.

He had come into the bar, automatically suspicious and wary, apart from the rest of the world, never allowing himself to try to make emotional connections. He could open up a bit with me, a non-threatening stranger, but only for a while and only fully in response to a voice of authority that he respected. And because of that, he would never be able to achieve the comfort of a wife and family and friends and a community that stood by him and understood him.

So underneath the ability to adapt quickly to different situations and the apparent easy charm that made him seem a participant in normal human interactions, he was in reality always on guard, always ready to fight or run, never able to really relax and open up. He was so lonely and so alone, and nobody should have to live like that. I was pretty sure I knew now why he seemed so grateful for what little I was giving him.

When our breathing had gotten back into the range of normal, I gasped out, "I think you deserve a medal for that," and when he could speak again, he said, "It may have to be a Purple Heart," and we laughed feebly because we didn't have the breath or the energy to laugh any louder.

* * *

We hobbled to the bedroom and fell back on the bed, completely tired out. Getting under the covers and naturally curling into our snuggly position, we both fell into a restful doze.

When I awoke, John was still there, holding me gently. He had apparently been watching me sleep, and he wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth as I smacked my dry lips and tried to raise my eyelids.

I said the first thing that came to my mind, which, of course, was the obvious.

"You're still here."

"Yes, Darlene, I'm still here," he replied. And then he sighed and looked all serious again.

"You know that I won't always be here, right? That this is it?"

I reached up and placed my palm on his cheek, touched by the concern in his eyes, concern for my emotional welfare.

"I know, John, and that's the last thing you should be worried about."

He paused, and his brows drew together to almost meet over his nose as he tried to find just the right words to say next. He even opened and closed his mouth in hesitation before he decided how to express himself.

"I just wanted to make sure you truly understood that before I tell you something. I have a confession to make, Darlene."

I sat up and watched his face attentively, curious about what he was going to say.

"I've been playing house," he admitted, an embarrassed smile forming as his eyes darted to mine and away again.

"What do you mean, John?" I asked, even though I was pretty sure what he meant, since I had been doing the same.

"I mean," he explained, "I've been pretending that we're a couple and we take care of each other and it's not going to end in a few hours and – well, you know..."

"John, believe me, I know all about it," I reassured him, "and it's okay. Now that you've outed yourself, we can maybe play house together for a while. Would you like that?"

"Yes, I would," he answered, and his face lit up the whole room and just about burned out my retinas as I was treated to the full smile – sparkling eyes, full array of teeth on display, dimples and all – and it was even more powerful than I had imagined it would be.

I groaned and wiggled myself over and onto his belly and said in a low, throaty voice, "C'mere, papa, and give momma a big wet one," and he did.

* * *

We kissed and talked quietly, caressing each other and holding on as though we were glued together. After sleeping a bit more, we got up as the sun started shining strongly through the window and padded into the kitchen, making detours around discarded clothes in various locations in the apartment and the crumbs and beer bottles on the living room floor.

When we got there, I dug out an apron for each of us to wear so we could fry up some eggs and bacon. John insisted on wearing an old-fashioned apron with frills around the edges just so he could make me laugh, and I snorted and guffawed when he put it on since it not only looked ridiculous but it was also way too short. He made a great show of striding up and down the kitchen, his penis, which was sticking down below the bottom edge of the cotton, swinging majestically from side to side. He was such an endearing asshole, and I warned him that I wouldn't be responsible for any injuries caused by grease splatters.

We sat at the table in the kitchen to eat this time, and it was the best breakfast I had ever tasted, which was no surprise since I was famished from all the activity, and after we had finished we discarded our aprons and left the cleaning up for later, going back to bed where we made slow, tender love.

First, I got John to lie on his stomach so I could give him a bit of a back massage and so we could have a chance to digest our breakfast. The massaging only lasted for a few minutes as I realized for the first time just how many different scars he had on his body. I'm no forensics expert, but they seemed to run the gamut from knife cuts and slashes to bullet holes, even angry weals, still showing a bit red, that could only have been evidence of whip cuts.

I traced them out, first with my fingers and then my lips, and when he felt my tears falling onto his skin, John rolled over onto his back and held me to him.

"We're the walking wounded, Darlene, you and I," he said. "Only my scars are mostly on the outside."

I pulled away from him and had a look at the front. His baby toe was missing from the left foot. I kissed the tiny stub that looked as though it still had some healing to do and continued up his legs. His ankles had circular marks, probably from being tied tightly. Underneath the hair on his calves and thighs I could make out several knife cuts and a couple of bullet holes and one long slash on the outside of his left thigh that looked like it had started healing before being hastily stitched up and then opened again after the fact for repair.

He lay there and let me check his groin. There were some marks I couldn't identify on and around his scrotum, and when I looked at him, he simply said, "Electrocution," which made me start to cry again. I continued on with my inventory, sniffling loudly now, and found similar marks around his nipples, along with more knife scars and a bullet hole just below his left shoulder. There was a mark on his upper right arm that almost looked like it could be –

"Acid splash," he supplied, and I nodded sadly.

Even his face hadn't escaped, and there was a strangely patterned scar, almost completely faded now, high on his left cheek.

I put a hand to each side of his face and looked into his eyes through my tears.

"Poor you," I said, and kissed him, trying to convey my sorrow at his suffering.

We kissed tenderly and there was heat but no urgency this time as we smoothly rolled and he entered me. We seemed to be in tune, moving to the same internal pulse like two dancers in a very old and very practiced dance. When he came, it was strong but sweet, and we looked at each other, feeling the connection between us, which gave me a kind of orgasm I had never had before, one that cleared my mind and made me feel like a vital, living being. We smiled at each other and John's eyes were glistening a bit as he withdrew and held me close, kissing me gently on the forehead.

We lay there not moving and not talking, simply savoring what had just happened between us.

But all good things must come to an end, apparently, and now was the time, so we got up and had another quick shower before returning to the bedroom. John re-armed himself and dressed from the pile of clothes on the floor and I selected fresh clothes from the closet and pulled them on before combing my hair a bit.

He shrugged into his shoulder holster, then his jacket, and as though we had discussed it earlier and had already come to an agreement, we simply held each other for a few moments, kissed lightly one last time, and he was gone.

* * *

I thought I saw him one day about a month later. I was driving along Burbank Boulevard, stopped at a traffic light in front of the Buy More Plaza, when I glanced out the side window and my heart jumped into my mouth. He was a long way away and I told myself it probably wasn't him, but my intuition was telling me that it was. He was wearing the bright green polo shirt of the Buy More sales staff and standing on the pavement outside the front door of the store, fists on hips, head on a slight angle as he appeared to be arguing with a tall, slim blonde in an Orange Orange costume and a tall, skinny dark-haired man in the Buy More Nerd Herd shirt-and-tie outfit. The skinny man was throwing his arms around in the air and John – if it really was him – looked like he was doing a slow burn.

I was completely absorbed in this little melodrama, and as the blonde reached out and put a hand on John's arm, which he jerked out from under her touch, I jumped up in the air a bit at the sound of car horns blasting from behind me, apparently because the traffic light was now green. The racket caused the little trio to look in the direction of the noise and I got another shock. I don't know if it was my imagination or wishful thinking, but I could feel a jolt of electricity run between me and the tall salesman in front of the Buy More, and I just had time to see him startle and take his fists from his hips, his demeanor saying he was on full alert, before I had to turn my head to the front and drive away.

It was difficult for a couple of days after that, but I finally decided to not go there again and see if it really was John. It wouldn't help either of us and I guessed might even put his life or mine in danger. When I figured this one out, it gave me another insight into what his existence must be like and what he was sacrificing so the rest of us could have our dull, boring but safe lives.

So in the end, Willie had been wrong when he said John Casey would break my heart. My heart was different because of him but not broken. It had healed, gotten stronger, beat a little more surely. And it was whole. John hadn't taken it with him. But there was a part of it that would always have his name on it, whatever that name might be, and if he ever did happen to show up in my bar on another dreary, rainy night, he would be welcome to make himself at home there again.


End file.
